


I Wish

by MMJL



Category: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Gen, Mental Illness, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, self hatred, thor is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-26 10:51:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19004272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MMJL/pseuds/MMJL
Summary: Thor blames himself. For everything. Everything is his fault, but he wishes it wasn't.





	I Wish

**Author's Note:**

> Hi Hello I just wanted to say I do NOT share Thor's thoughts here, I love Thor and want to protect him. 
> 
> CW for self hatred, calling suicide "brave"

Guilt was a heavy weight.

The god of thunder and heir-now-king to the throne of Asgard was used to carrying the weight of the world, but the realm eternal had been reduced to space debris and he was crumbling under the heavy load of overwhelming, crushing guilt. He knew he had to be strong, had to take care of his people and make sure all was right while they settled into New Asgard, but, it was too much. His guilt ate away at the strength he was known for, and he could no longer remain the steadfast pillar of a king that Asgard needed. 

He was not the only one who lost against Thanos, of course, but that didn’t sway him from his belief that it was all his fault.  He was the one who had failed his people. He was the one who had let his arrogance and anger blind him, his desire for revenge standing above simply preventing the snap. He was the reason everyone was gone. He was the one who murdered a crippled famer in a moment of blind anger, even if that farmer was the monster who killed half the universe. In his mind, he was undoubtedly responsible for everything.

He tried to work away his feelings, but they were ever-present. His people deserved better than him, he thought. Asgard would be better off without his bloodstained hands making everything worse, once again. 

So, he drank. He drank until everything was fuzzy, until he could almost forget his damning actions. The drinking didn’t stop the images running through his mind, the constant stream of yourfaultyourfaultfailuretraitor **murderer** , oh no, but it did mute his feelings a fraction. After long, long, months of of this, he even came to the conclusion that the only way to atone for his sins was death. But, he wasn’t brave enough. He had defied death countless times, but everything was different now. He was unfit to lead, unfit to fight, unfit to have a place in Asgard, unfit to die, cowardcoward **coward** . He thought often of his comrades in battle, but they wouldn’t have wanted him, he decided. They were better off without such a failuretraitoridiot **COWARD** in their midst. They were probably too busy dealing with the fallout of his actions. They were probably angry. 

Several times, people came to his door, pleading with his to come out and fulfill the promise he had made as king to lead them, help them, protect them. He couldn't. He couldn’t bear to face them. Not only had he lead them here, where they struggled, not only had he destroyed their home, not only was it HIS fault ¾ of their friends and family were gone, but now he had proved to be a coward twice over. He had abandoned them. Abandoned them for his home, his filthy filthy home with Korg and Miek and his alcohol. A coward thrice over, for he couldn’t stand to look at them. He couldn’t stand thinking about them seeing him in his current state. He was no longer their strong, noble king. When was the last time he had showered? Brushed his hair? He was shaking in his crocs thinking of the shame he would feel, the looks of disgust on their faces once they saw what he had become.

Often, he wished someone would help him. Help him out of his misery. Care enough about him to see how  **badly** he needed someone to extend a hand. He missed his mom. He missed his brother. They were gone because of him too. He couldn’t save Loki, couldn’t get to Frigga in time. He had failed. 

He cried often. He wanted to yell, to thrash around and wail about how it wasn’t fair, how he wished he could do it all again. But, it wouldn’t come out. He cried silently and felt the anxiety bubble up his throat. He was bound to make things worse again, somehow. He just didn’t know when, or what would happen, and his anxiety over that swallowed him whole. He was existing, and that was all he could manage. 

He wished he could do it all again. He wished he could go outside, fix everything,  **fix himself** . Be who he so desperately wanted to be. He wished. And wished. But that’s all he could manage, so he stayed in his house. His filthy house. In his bathrobe, in his crocs, with his matted hair, because who cared about Thor anymore anyways? Even if he somehow fixed himself, he couldn’t fix what happened. No one would forgive him. He wished they would. 


End file.
